


The Universe Says Kiss Him

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, phone mix up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's been some strange phone swap and somehow Courfeyrac finds himself talking to the mother of the guy he maybe made out with at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Universe Says Kiss Him

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a post from tumblr. You probably know the one.

There’s a ringing coming from somewhere and Courfeyrac wants it to stop. He lets out what must be the longest groan in the entire world as he burrows further under his blankets.

“Answer your _fucking_ phone!”

It’s Enjolras’ vicious snarl from the other room—he’s not a morning person, even less so than Courfeyrac. And Courfeyrac would ignore him, but… well, Enjolras can be scary.

So he groans again and groggily sits up enough to locate his phone on the bedside table. _Mom_ is flashing across the front. He grabs it, hitting the answer button and cradling it against his ear as he snuggles back into bed.

“Hi Mom,” he greets with a yawn.

_“Where are you?”_

“Ummm, at home?” He’s mumbling a little, sinking back towards a sleepy place.

_“Still? You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago.”_

There’s a heavy, slightly-annoyed sigh and Courfeyrac feels bad. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to…. Wait.” It hits him suddenly that his mother lives seven hours away and would not be calmly sighing in disappointment if he was late to meet her. If he was late to meet her, she would be yelling at him in a mix of three languages.

He scrambles to sit up, suddenly completely awake. “You’re not my mom.”

 _“What_?” And god, how did he not realize the voice on the other side of the line was _not_ his mother’s? “ _Combeferre?”_

“No,” he says. “I’m Courfeyrac.”

 _“Oh._ ” There’s a pause. “ _Is my son with you? Or, was he?”_

“No.” he says again, a little flushed because there’s an implication behind that question. “I actually have no idea who your son is or how I got his phone…”

And truly, he doesn’t. He hadn’t brought anyone home last night after the party—he’d barely even spent time with anyone but Marius, who he’d been trying to cheer up. With one exception, when he….

“Oh fuck,” he swears, then catches himself. “Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to—“

 _“It’s fine. What is it?_ ”

“Well, I uh… think I met your son last night at a party. I mean, I didn’t really catch his name—I found him saving a bee in the kitchen of the house it was at and then we talked out on the patio for a bit and there was a little making out, but it was all very respectable, I swear.” He’s rambling and going into detail he really probably shouldn’t at all ever. This is what happens when it’s morning and he’s awake. “And then I had to leave. I must have grabbed his phone instead of mine—hopefully he took mine.”

There’s a silence over the line for a few seconds, then the distinct sound of laughter. “ _That’s a hell of a story, Courfeyrac.”_

“It really is, ma’am,” he agrees.

 _“Call me Amy_.”

Courfeyrac’s a little surprised but goes with it, nodding until he realizes she can’t see him. It doesn’t seem to matter; she continues.

“ _That sounds exactly like my son, though. And I’m certain now he’s currently too wrapped up in some experiment or crossword puzzle to realize he’s late to meet me and doesn’t even have the right phone.”_

Courfeyrac laughs. “Is he that absentminded?”

 _“Well, he forgot to give you his_ name _last night. You tell me.”_

“That wasn’t entirely his fault.” After all, Courfeyrac had been a little too distracted to give his own name.

_“Maybe this phone mix-up was a good thing. A second chance for you two.”_

Courfeyrac can’t hold back a snort. “Yeah, because he’d definitely want to find me again.”

 _“I think he would._ ”

It’s so surreal, Courfeyrac can’t help shaking his head in a mix of awe and pure disbelief. The guy he’d made out with’s _mom_ is essentially trying to set them up. “You don’t even know me, Amy. I could be, like, a serial killer or something.”

She laughs. _“Well then, tell me about yourself. It looks like my son has stood me up anyways.”_

Courfeyrac blinks, mouth agape. But, well, she sounds nice. And it’s not like he has any plans for the day. So he does.

**

Enjolras finds him two hours later, still on the phone and laughing near hysterically over a story Amy’s telling.

“He really jumped into the lake, shoes and all?”

“ _Yes, and the kids’ mini jeep—“_

 _“_ Oh my god, I _forgot_ about the jeep. What—“ he broke off when he saw Enjolras looking quizzically at him from the doorway. “Hold on just a sec, Amy, my roommate is watching me creepily.”

He covered the phone receiver with his palm. “What is it, Enjolras?”

“Who have you been on the phone with for so long?”

Courfeyrac hesitates for a moment because it’s maybe a little weird. “Well, um… the mother of the guy I made out with last night?” he offers. “Long story,” he adds when Enjolras makes a shocked face. “Long story about a phone mix up and yeah.”

“And you’ve just been talking to her? For hours?”

Courfeyrac shrugs defensively. “She’s nice.”

Enjolras shakes his head and gives a look that’s far more exasperated than Courfeyrac thinks is necessary. “I hope you’ve at least made a plan to get your phone back,” he says and walks out.

“Of course I have,” he yells after him, indignant.

He hasn’t.

“So Amy,” he says as he turns back to the phone. “Finish the story, and then can you tell me where I can meet your son to exchange phones?”

**

It occurs to Courfeyrac only when he steps in the door of a tiny florist shop Combeferre apparently works at that maybe he should have called Combeferre before showing up out of the blue with his phone. But it’s a little too late for that.

Combeferre’s not at the counter, and there isn’t much space in the front room that he could be hiding in—so he’s either in the back or he left the place unsupervised entirely.

“Uh, hello?” Courfeyrac calls out weakly.

“Just one moment,” a calm and collected voice replies from the back room. “I’m just finishing up—“ Combeferre’s head pops through the open door and he freezes entirely. “You! How did you find me?”

Normally Courfeyrac is smooth, but today he’s apparently turned into a preteen with a crush. “Your mom,” he blurts out. And really, could there have been anything worse to say?

Combeferre looks at him with an expected amount of confusion and wariness, so Courfeyrac plunges forward. “I mean, um, we swapped phones accidentally? And she called and I spoke with her—you missed your breakfast date, by the way. Not cool. But she told me you’d be here, so… hi?”

“Really?” Combeferre stares at him quizzically. “I didn’t notice we’d swapped phones.” He starts rummaging through a bag that he pulls from somewhere behind the counter though, eventually revealing a phone. And then he blinks, almost sheepish. “Oh. This isn’t mine.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” Combeferre laughs, a little awkwardly. He sets the phone on the counter, so Courfeyrac steps forward a little and places the other phone beside it.

“To be fair, they are pretty similar,” Courfeyrac offers. Sitting on the counter, they look almost identical. There is a slight difference in the cases—but even that’s minute. “Until you use it, it’s hard to notice.”

Combeferre gives a slight smile. “Well. I, um. Thank you. For bringing it back.”

“No problem,” Courfeyrac forces a smile back, suddenly nervous. It feels like he is being dismissed and he—he isn’t ready for that. He had liked Combeferre from the moment he’d seen the handsome bee-saving dork, but now that he spent the morning listening to Amy’s stories, he likes him even _more_.

Courfeyrac can’t handle it—this really liking someone thing. Combeferre doesn’t seem quite as interested and it’d be so easy for his heart to be broken and—and it’s just too much pressure.

He panics.

“I better get going,” Courfeyrac blurts out, cutting Combeferre off as he begins to say something. He doesn’t slow down to let him speak. “Bye.”

Courfeyrac grabs his phone and hurries out, not stopping until he’s three blocks away in front of a sub shop. He groans, leaning against the window. Great. Wonderful. He screwed up his only chance.

**

“You ask people out all the time,” Enjolras points out when Courfeyrac tells him what happened.

“But this is different,” he moans into the pillow he’s face down on. “I really, _really_ like him. How do you even handle that?”

Enjolras shrugs. “Just go back and ask him out.”

Enjolras isn’t very good at advice, Courfeyrac realizes. “I can’t. I—he’s not even interested. I should just forget it.”

“You should stop being ridiculous,” Enjolras answers briskly, sharp and not at all comforting like Courfeyrac wants.

Courfeyrac turns his head to frown at him.

“Look,” Enjolras says. “You don’t _know_ he’s not interested. You go back there and ask him out—otherwise, you’ll regret it. I know you and you’ll regret not having at least found out whether he really is interested or not.”

“That’s—“ That’s not untrue, actually. Courfeyrac flounders for an argument against it before he sighs. “You’re… maybe not wrong.”

“I’m _right_.” Enjolras insists. “Now stand up, get confident, and _go._ You can do this.”

Courfeyrac listens to him, feeling energized anew. “You’re—thank you. I needed this.”

He hugs Enjolras, getting an exasperated sigh and an over-dramatic frown in return (but he knows Enjolras is secretly pleased).

“I’m going to try again,” Courfeyrac says, more to himself than anything. He’s buzzing with anticipation and nerves—and a little bit of excitement. “I’ll see you later?”

Enjolras nods. “Go get him.”

**

CLOSED.

That’s what the shop sign reads when Courfeyrac gets back to the florist’s. He sinks, all of his energy and enthusiasm slipping away while he stares at the sign and lets the rain soak him. Because, of course, it’s raining.

And maybe this is all a sign from the universe—maybe he’d made the right call in the first place and Enjolras’ idea to come back was all wrong. Maybe—

“Hey!”

Courfeyrac startles and turns when he hears a voice. He nearly gasps when he sees it’s Combeferre running towards him from across the street.

Combeferre stops in front of him, breathing a little harshly, and Courfeyrac watches as drops of water run down his (perfect) face. “Hey,” he repeats, looking nervous.

“Hi,” Courfeyrac breathes. He’s completely in awe because… because this has to mean something. This is the universe saying _here he is, he’s all for you. Now kiss him_.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” Combeferre says in a rush of words. “I—my mother said you would. And I hoped she would be right because I—you didn’t even tell me your name.” He’s flushed and Courfeyrac really does want to kiss him.

“Courfeyrac.”

Combeferre smiles, shy and perfect. “Combeferre. Nice to meet you.”

Courfeyrac laughs. It’s dark and pouring—they’re both soaked to the bone and Courfeyrac can feel his shoes squishing with water. It’s the _third_ time they’ve met. It’s perfect and he wouldn’t change it at all.

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” he asks.

Combeferre lights up—and Courfeyrac wants to spend all his time from now on trying to get this look from him. “Yes. Definitely.”

“Thank God,” Courfeyrac lets out, grinning. He leans up as Combeferre leans down, arms wrapping around his neck, and then they’re kissing. It tastes like rain.

“I’m so glad you came back,” Combeferre murmurs as they pull apart. “You ran away so quickly before, I thought you _hated_ me.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head insistently, his curls flinging water. “I only ran because I freaked out—I was worried you wouldn’t be interested in me and I like you. A lot.”

“And last night?”

“My friend needed me,” Courfeyrac explains. “I don’t think you saw him—he was making frantic gestures through the patio door behind you and, well, I wouldn’t have left if he didn’t need me. Believe me.”

“I do,” Combeferre answers with a soft smile. It ends abruptly, turning into something more wry. “You know, maybe we should find somewhere to dry off.”

Courfeyrac laughs lightly at the suggestion, but nods. “Maybe.”

“And maybe we could have that date while we do?”

Courfeyrac grins. “Definitely.”

He laces their fingers when Combeferre starts to lead them to the café across the street.

**

They’ve been dating two weeks and Courfeyrac is deliriously happy—happier than he’s ever been.

Combeferre comes over for breakfast nearly every morning now, so they can see each other at least over coffee before they part for their busy days. (Mostly because Combeferre is never _not_ doing something, be it class, work, or some kind of volunteering.)

Today when he comes over, Courfeyrac sits him down very seriously. “We need to talk,” he says, feeling a little guilty over the joy he gets from the jump of panic in Combeferre’s eyes.

“I think it’s time I meet your mother.”

It takes half a moment for it to sink in, and then Combeferre is properly _giggling_. He even snorts. (And god, it’s too soon for the l-word but he definitely l-words this nerd.)

“I don’t know if I’m ready for the two of you to physically be in the same room yet,” Combeferre teases back. “She did enough damage over the phone.”

Courfeyrac nudges his foot under the table. “Come on, all the stories she told me were _cute_.”

Combeferre groans, but he’s smiling. “Cute for you,” he mutters, before speaking louder. “But if you actually want to,” he’s trying to sound offhand, but Courfeyrac can see he’s suddenly nervous. “I’m sure she’d love to have us for dinner sometime.”

“Of course I’d want to,” Courfeyrac insists. “As long as you don’t think it’s too soon or something.”

“No,” Combeferre assures. “Actually, my mom has been hounding me for your number for _days_ now.”

“And you didn’t give it to her?” Courfeyrac exclaims, pleased by the news.

Combeferre laughs. “In what universe is that _not_ a weird thing to do?”

“Babe,” Courfeyrac tells him gently, pressing a hand over Combeferre’s. “You are going to have to get used to the fact that I’m going to be great friends with your mom. You may be able to put it off, but it _will_ happen.”

Combeferre doesn’t respond with teasing like Courfeyrac expected. Instead he smiles so sweetly—tenderly, even. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, voice full of fondness.

Courfeyrac leans over the table to kiss him.


End file.
